


The Disappearance of Synnefa

by Drakanin



Series: The Rose Thief Collection [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Background Geoff Ramsey/Jack Pattillo, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mystery, Sequel, king AU, minecraft au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakanin/pseuds/Drakanin
Summary: Jon is a Mage, albeit a weak one, living in the small town of Synnefa inside the kingdom of Venator. One day, he witnesses his entire town just stand up and walk away, all in one direction, like marionettes controlled by an invisible master. Without any other choice, unable to help them, he runs to Achievement City to get the help of the Court Mage Ryan.In the midst of trying to solve the mystery of Synnefa, the last thing Jon expected is to get tangled up in a grander plot that would affect the four kingdoms... and to fall in love.NOTE: This is a sequel to The Rose Thief, a Ray-centric story. However, I have included a prologue summarizing it, so that you shouldn't have to read the prequel (or reread it if it's been a while). I know not everyone wants to read Ray stories. Ray still has a presence in this story but it will be as minimal as makes sense within the story.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I never planned on doing a sequel to the Rose Thief. That story was done. But I wanted to do a Jon-centric story in my favorite AU. The problem with that is that Jon doesn't typically have a "role" in the minecraft king AU.... except he does in the Rose Thief's world.
> 
> And so, here we are. Please enjoy!

Jon let the magic flow through him warmly, and when he waved his hand, a shimmering map appeared in gray and blue between him and the half-circle of children at his feet. The map featured a large central landmass, divided in half by a political border. Below it was a country nearly the same size as one of the other two, which would have been a massive island if not for a small amount of land bridges. And finally, to the northwest of the countries was a smaller island.

Jon grinned at the kids, who were staring at the map with wide eyes. “Who can name the four kingdoms for me?”

One child’s hand shot up, and Jon nodded at her. She screwed up her face, and pointed at the map as she named them. “Um… That one is the Ruby Kingdom.” The small island flashed red. “That one is Venator…” The west side of the central landmass flashed green. “...and Galdente…” The east side of the central landmass flashed gold. “And that one is… um…”

“The Ender Kingdom,” Jon supplied as the southern country flashed purple. He didn’t blame the kids for being unsure about that one. It was only recently that the kingdom started being relevant again. “You know we’re in Venator.” He made a small town to the south of the capital, Achievement City, flash white for the kids. “So who can tell me who lives at the castle up here?” Now he made Achievement City flash.

This time the kids didn’t wait to be called. They stumbled over themselves, screaming the name of King Geoff, and the adoptive Prince Gavin, the famous Court Mage Ryan. A few of them remembered First Adviser Jack, and Captain Michael, but then only one kid said, as the others quieted, “Sir Ray.”

Said in silence, the name seemed loud, and the other children turned their heads towards the speaker. Jon snapped his fingers before the little girl could even think to squirm under the attention, drawing the children’s gazes back to him.

“Yes, you are correct,” Jon said. “Since the Rose Thief was found innocent, and more or less pardoned for anything else he may have done while in exile, he’s been free to live at the castle again. He’s usually out, now, though, on missions from His Majesty the king, or for Mage Ryan. But let’s talk about someth—”

“You met him, right?” said the little girl from before. Jon blinked. “The Other Ray. The hero from the story.”

Ah. The “story,” carried by merchants and traveling entertainers alike, a tale of how the End was saved and the Rose Thief's reputation repaired. The Ray from Another World, whose statue now resides in the castle gardens, was the star of this story.

“Only once, and very briefly,” Jon admitted. “I did not know who he was at the time.”

“Tell us the story again!” one child begged, and when he begged, the rest joined in. The story was far more interesting than the history of their own country! But, he supposed, he could tell it again.

“Alright,” Jon said. “Alright. But only if you promise to be quiet throughout it all.”

“We promise!” the children chorused.

Jon chuckled and sat back on his perch on the half-wall and untied his hair from its bun, letting his black locks fall to his shoulder. It was getting late, so he decided on the shortened version.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s start from the _very_ beginning…”

* * *

 

Our story starts about 100 years ago, in the Ender Kingdom. The End used to be a thriving country, rich with ores and gems, and their Pearl trade was a most popular export. But those Ender Pearls they dug up brought the attention of a black dragon, who visited the kingdom and decided to stay.

At first it seemed this could be a mutually beneficial relationship—that is, they could learn from the dragon, and the dragon could get help in return for whatever it needed. The Court Mage Kdin, one of Queen Lindsay’s closest advisers, communed with the dragon frequently.

But it eventually came to light that the dragon was actually expanding its influence over their minds. By the time the people of the End realized that, it was too late, and they were helpless to fight it. The dragon made them war against their northern neighbor, Venator. They brought with them an army of horrible, teleporting creatures called Endermen, terrible black things with gazes that paralyzed, touches that killed, and blood that poisoned.

Endermen feared water, though, and Venator feared war, so many of the greatest Mages banded together and formed a wall at the border. Together, with their combined powers, they collapsed the land between the End and Venator, leaving just a few land bridges, and throwing up a magic barrier.

And then the End was silent. They retreated at this show of power and the limitations the barrier brought. And for a hundred years, they were silent. A few Endermen managed to trickle over, but not nearly with the force and numbers as before. All we knew was that anyone who tried to enter the End never returned.

Until a few years ago, when the Other Ray fell into our world. It would turn out that he was summoned here by the Mage Kdin, with the dragon’s help, to be used as a sort of sacrifice to power this terrible machine. One that would expand the influence of the dragon over all the four kingdoms.

That didn’t quite go to plan, as the Other Ray was captured by the prince’s hunting party, thinking he was the Rose Thief. And then the Rose Thief rescued him from the gallows! We’re not sure what happened after _that_ scene, but we think the Rose Thief took the Other Ray on a ship with the exiled Captain Kerry.

One day, the Other Ray did return to the castle in Achievement City of his own will—to save Prince Gavin from an assassin. That same night, an Enderman appeared to try and drag the Other Ray away, and over the next few days it became clear that the Mage Kdin wanted this Ray. Plus, being from a land of no magic whatsoever, this Other Ray was even more resistant to magic than one of you might be. This made him a prime candidate to lead an attack against the End, to pressure them into a final submission.

But another interesting thing happened at the castle before this plan could be completed. The Other Ray somehow found evidence that the Rose Thief _hadn’t_ tried to assassinate the king several years ago. He was innocent! It was someone else entirely, a man who is no longer with us, an unimportant fellow with tall aspirations.

Such a reveal prompted the Other Ray to head to the End alone, but the prince and the First Adviser caught up to him. Together, the three of them traveled to the End, with the Venatian army a few days’ travel behind them. And yes, this was when I met the Other Ray. I read the clouds for Sir Jack and Prince Gavin, though I could not see the Other Ray in the clouds.

The army got caught at the border, attacked by the dragon and forced to retreat. But the party led by the Other Ray went deep into the heart of the End to meet Mage Kdin and Queen Lindsay.

After a long and hard battle, the Other Ray, with the help of his companions, defeated both the queen and the Mage, and soon after helped slay the dragon itself. The Ender Kingdom was freed from the dragon’s control.

The Other Ray was sent home after that. With the help from Mage Kdin, rescued from the dragon’s influence at long last, as well as Mages Ryan and Caleb, he was able to reconnect with his own world and leave through a portal again.

And now Sir Ray is welcome back at the castle with open arms, and the Ender Kingdom is recovering and rebuilding. The dragon’s magic had essentially stopped time for the whole land, so they have a little bit of catching up to do, but with assistance from Venator, they’re on the path to recapturing their precious greatness.

* * *

 

“Wow…” said one child, her eyes wide. “Our prince killed a dragon!”

“ _Helped_ kill a dragon,” Jon reminded her gently. “His arrows did a number, but if you want to be exact, then the queen’s sword did the final blow.”

The children chattered excitedly. Some wanted to meet the queen, some the prince. Jon let them gossip, taking the small break to rest his voice. He glanced up at the darkening sky, seeing the first few stars peek out of the purple dusk. He sighed and stood.

“Alright, it’s time you return to your families. Off you go now. Good night.”


	2. Fever Dream

Jon sighed and sat back in the hard wooden chair, wiping his forehead on his long sleeve. His patient stirred on the bed in front of him, all awash with red and orange light from the fire. The rest of the simple bedroom was dark, the windows firmly shuttered so Jon didn’t even know what time it was. He stretched, trying to work the stiffness out of his back and neck. It had to be quite late, but he had hardly slept at all the past few days, so his internal clock was not reliable.

But at last, this night, his patient’s fever had broke. He only knew a little bit of healing—in his studies as a Mage in Galdente, he had learned a bit how to mend broken bones, clot wounds, and ease cramped muscles, but beyond that he didn’t go in depth. But since moving out to Synnefa and being the only Mage for miles around, he figured out how to help more.

It wasn’t perfect, and he was sure Ryan at the castle or the infamous healer Caleb could have broken his patient’s fever within the same day, but Jon did well enough. The body did most of the fight, he just facilitated—he liked to joke that he refereed.

Either way, the people in Synnefa trusted him to help. If he really couldn’t, he could make sure they got somewhere they could. Synnefa was a small town and most of the help needed was for physical injuries anyway—cramps gotten from gardening or sprains from falling during roof repair. He’d often get called out to the nearby farms for the same reasons. He was the only Mage close enough to help right away.

His patient now had fallen feverishly ill a few days ago, and Jon had scarcely left the bedside since. Exhaustion dug it’s long brittle fingers into every muscle, and his eyes felt as though they were filled with gravel. He yawned and stood. The patient would be fine and only had to sleep the illness off now.

He reached up and untied the leather thong holding his hair back from his face and raked his fingers through his shoulder-length black hair a few times. He felt like he could sleep for 200 years. He wrapped the leather thong around his wrist, tucking the ends under itself, and took his gray vest from the back of the chair. He shrugged it on, doing up the rope clasps as he headed for the bedroom door.

The next room served as the house’s kitchen, eating area, and den. The shutters of the windows on each side of the front door were flung open, letting in bright light and a cool breeze. Jon blinked and rubbed his stinging eyes.

“How is he?” begged the woman seated at her table. Jon let his hands drop finally as his eyes adjusted. The only thing on the table was a woven basket with a loaf of bread and some cheese. “Master Cloud Reader?”

“He’ll be just fine,” Jon said, smiling. “His fever broke about an hour ago. All he needs now is rest.”

“Oh, thank you,” the woman sighed, her hand pressed over her heart. “Thank you. I was so worried...”

Jon bowed his head. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading home now. If you need me again, please don’t hesitate to come get me.”

“Oh of course!” the woman said. “Go home and rest! Please take some of our cheese and bread, here. You’ve taken care of my husband, now go take care of yourself.”

The woman hustled into the bedroom, and Jon saw himself out the door, pausing only to graciously accept the food. He normally got “paid” in food around here, but it depended on the person. Payment was rarely gold, often food, and sometimes a favor. He never asked or expected payment, but people always gave back if they could. If tradition was any estimate, then this would be the first meal of several provided by this patient’s family.

The cool breeze and bright sunlight perked him up somewhat as he strolled along the flagstone road. He hummed a tune to himself. He had misjudged the time—it was late afternoon, judging by the sun. The sky was clear and azure. Jon wrinkled his nose at that. He preferred at least some clouds, so he could get a forecast of days to come. Clear days, he was as blind as the rest, and it always made his nerves tighten and crawl.

A few people were out and about, and normally they would greet him, but today they simply slipped out of his way with a respectful nod. Everyone knew what he’d been up to the last few days, and exhaustion lined every bone in his body. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself upon the nearest mildly soft, mildly horizontal surface and pass out.

But, he thought, he should wash first. Then get some food in him. _Then_ he could sleep. He stifled another yawn. If he went to bed right now, he would probably sleep clear through to the next morning.

His small, one-room house nestled itself at the end of a lane of other small houses. It was in plain sight of the admittedly ugly aviary tower where all the messenger birds resided. From his rear window, Jon could see the rectangular tower nestled partially in the hill, and could look out at the rolling hills beyond. When he first came to Synnefa, after his self-imposed exile from Galdente, he had almost starved. If it had not been for the kind innkeeper and generous neighbors, he would have collapsed on the road and not gotten up. He repaid them with his mage skills, eventually they gifted him a place of his own, and the rest was history. A sign hung over the door, letting everyone know that a Mage lived here.

Speaking of his kind neighbors, though, someone had left a bucket of water next to his door. He smiled. Now he would not have to draw water from the nearby well himself. He wondered who it was, but didn’t idle on that thought.

He hefted the bucket up and pushed through his front door, his ward welcoming him in. The ward wouldn’t actually stop anyone from entering his house, but it would alert him to unexpected guests and mark them if they took anything outside of the ward. Jon hadn’t had to worry about that yet in his years here, but he still kept it up, if only for habit.

Everything he owned fit inside his one room. His bed was pushed far back into the corner, a chest at its foot and a short but wide bookshelf serving as a bedside table. Jon’s small collection of books was neatly organized on said shelf, though most of them were journals from his studies. He wished he owned more, but merchants passing through rarely had any books, and Jon couldn’t afford to go out hunting for them. He sometimes longed to return to the Court Mage life, the unlimited access to castle libraries… but the other side of that was dealing with nobles. Nobles who get very angry if you read their fortune wrong.

His kitchen area was off to the left, a stove next to the fireplace and a stone counter with cabinets for all his food prep needs. His kitchen table was small and wooden, with two matching chairs. Off to the right was his one luxury, a cushioned chair, next to a larger wardrobe. Around the back outside, he shared a cellar with two of his neighbors.

Jon set the basket of food on his kitchen table and lugged the water to the washstand in the back corner opposite the bed. He did a quick loop around the room, tilting his shutters so the daylight filtered in without needing to fling them open, before he returned to the washstand. There, he splashed some water on his face, shivering and wiping the sweat away with a rag. The water was icy cold, but it scared away some of the sleepy gravel in his eyes.

His stomach growled shortly after, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for quite some time—when was the last time? He couldn’t remember eating at all today; he had been so intent on his patient. He glanced at the basket of food as he washed his hands, rolling up his sleeves a bit and splashing the cold water on his neck. He made a mental to-do list: brief wash now, food next, then bed, and when he woke up he would do a more thorough wash with soap. He grinned and let his eyes drift shut for a moment, his hands toweling dry on autopilot. A good scrub after being in that hot room for days on end just sounded so good… And he had some new soap he had bought off the last merchant who traveled through the town. His neighbor told him it was a lovely scent, too. It was a shame he was too exhausted to put in the effort right now.

A shock went down his spine, and he sucked in a breath, his eyes flying open again. Someone had entered his ward. Someone with a weapon. His door opened, and then—

A bowstring snapped. Before Jon could react, tight hot pain shot from his left shoulder, and he gasped. He lurched forward with the blow, his whole body shaking as it felt like his muscle was trying to wring itself out, burning around something that shouldn’t be there. His knees wobbled, but he managed to turn and remain standing. The back of his shoulder felt slick and wet against his shirt, and his hands trembled as he held them up as though he could catch the pain in his palms.

His last patient, silhouetted at his door, lowered the arm with the small crossbow. Only his armed moved, making him look like some sort of mannequin twitching one limb at a time. When his patient spoke, it was as though he could barely move his jaw. “I can’t… control…” The crossbow rattled in his grasp. “Mage—help.”

His patient shuddered, and all of his movement stopped for a moment. Then he turned, legs moving as though he forgot how legs worked, and left.

Jon fell to his knees and hunched over, his shoulder on fire and too tight around the bolt wedged in his muscles. Any attempt to draw in a breath large enough to cry out left him with just squeaky gasps. He tried to think around the fire burning his nerve endings.

It had to be magic. Right? But he hadn’t sensed anything, and he had never heard of a spell that successfully used someone’s body against their will. And his patient was as non-magical as they come—most of these townfolk were, if not all. That meant they should be able to resist this stuff—even if his patient was weakened by fever. Surely his wife wouldn’t have just… let him go.

The wife. The patient had had a crossbow. No, surely not…!

Numbness bloomed in Jon’s shoulder. _Oh good_ , he thought, his head drooping. The shock was setting in. He staggered to his feet and made his way to the door. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He wandered out, dragging his tired feet when all he wanted to do was lie down and bleed. The bolt had missed his organs, but his back felt damp. But he had to see…

He made it to the end of his lane, occasionally stumbling into one of the houses. He stopped at the corner and gasped.

Every townsperson was walking in the same direction, their legs moving choppily like a marionette and their arms almost stationary. He saw his patient’s wife among them. No one spared a glance at Jon, nor did their steps ever falter. He was witnessing some sort of mass trance, a reaction to some calling he didn’t hear. Jon sank to his knees. His head started to ache and he couldn’t really move his left arm. He was exhausted, his people were leaving, and he was bleeding out as they walked on by.

He wouldn’t be able to do something, not now, not on his own… but maybe someone at the castle could. Ryan was a powerful mage, much more so than Jon, and with lots of access to research. If anyone could help, it was him. Jon gritted his teeth and forced himself up, leaning against the nearest wall as he got to his feet. He’d send a letter. Well, first he’d try and tend to his own wound…

He staggered back to his house. Next to the bucket of water, he reached behind his back with his right arm and gripped the bolt. He hissed as he jostled it, and snapped the wooden shaft. Black edged his vision as the arrow twisted in his flesh.

He pulled off his vest and shirt, tears springing to his eyes, before digging long strips of cloth bandages out of a cabinet. He took a deep breath. He cast a spell on the bandages, ordering them to move and wrap around his shoulder. His body protested, his stomach churning and the nerves all over his skin tingling painfully. He was too worn out to be casting magic, especially after expending so much magical energy the past few days, but it was either suffer the side effects of that or bleed out. The bandages pressed against his wound and tied themselves off.

A letter, now, to Achievement City. He hurried out back out his door and turned the corner of his house to head for the aviary, but he didn’t take two steps before the birds burst out their windows, their combined wings a flapping cacophony. They spread away from the tower, two dozen or so pigeons and doves escaping whatever they thought they were escaping.

Jon swallowed hard and swayed. It just couldn’t be that easy. He’d have to alert Ryan the hard way. He went back inside, put a fresh shirt on, threw his gifted food into a satchel, and left.

He borrowed a horse from the otherwise vacated stable at one edge of town and kicked it towards Achievement City. He cast an endurance spell over the horse, and it felt like his stomach was being dragged into the Nether as he used reserves he didn’t have. He was running on empty in more ways than one. He felt like death. He gritted his teeth, leaned low against the horse’s neck, and pressed on.

A hurried ride from Synnefa to Achievement City typically took about three days. Jon made it in one.


	3. With a Wounded Shoulder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! Just.. low motivation to do any writing at all. But here we go!

Jon awoke from lying face down in a pillow with a shuddering gasp, and scrambled upright. He barely registered that he was in a bed before pain twisted and burned in his shoulder. He yelped as he shifted himself to a sitting position, then hunched over, his right hand pressing into his shoulder as though that would help.

The more he stayed still, the more the pain faded. A headache pounded against his temples, and his stomach gnawed hungrily at his insides like a cavern with a clawed beast carving at his insides. His hands trembled; he needed food and water badly.

Weakly, he glanced around the room. Walls and floor were of some smooth, gray stone. There were three other beds in the room, two against opposite walls, but they were empty, and a lit fireplace sat between Jon’s bed and the bed next to him. A table and chair was at each bedside, and the broad windows in the wall opposite the door had heavy green curtains drawn over them.

Did he make it? To the castle? What happened to his horse? His—his clothes! He was stripped down to just his pants, and his bandages were fresh. The bolt seemed to have been taken out, but the bandages were still damp. He wouldn’t have been able to be magically healed that much if he had been unconscious, and exhausted to boot.

The great oaken door opened and in walked a short man with broad shoulders and a bald head but with a short brown beard. He wore a purple tunic with green embroidery decorating its hem, with a short black cape. He was holding a clay mug, and he stopped when he noticed Jon looking at him.

“Oh fuck, you woke up,” the man said. He shut the door behind him and hurried over to Jon’s bed. He thrust the mug in front of Jon, took Jon’s right hand and put it on the mug for him. He stared blankly at it. It was filled with water. “Please drink,” said the man. “You lost a lot of blood back there. You need water.”

Jon already knew that, but he couldn’t seem to make his body comprehend it. He stared listlessly at the mug, wondering how he could possibly drink it, until the man gently nudged the cup, coaxing it up. Finally, Jon’s limbs seemed to remember what they were for, and he gulped the water down greedily.

“Sorry about that,” said the man. “I had wanted to get the water for you before you woke up, but…”

“Where is Mage Ryan?” Jon asked. “I—I need to see him. It’s important. Where am I?”

The man blinked.

“He’ll be here soon,” the man said. Jon sighed and let his posture slump. His shoulder ached, and he just let his head hang. “Do you… not remember what happened?”

Jon jerked his head up. “My town, they all—I need help,” he begged. “I don’t have the resources or the power. I can’t—I can’t save them!”

“I’m going to take that as a no,” said the man. Jon frowned. The man leaned forward and felt Jon’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You were absolutely fucking delirious yesterday. You ran into me, half a crossbow bolt sticking out of you, babbling about people walking out of your town. You said over and over that you needed to see Mage Ryan, then you passed the fuck out.”

Jon made to rise, to get out of bed, but the man pressed down firmly on his good shoulder. “I have to go,” Jon insisted. His head swam, and he made no effort to resist the man.

“You’ll stay right here,” said the man. “Food will be here any minute, and Mage Ryan won’t be far behind. He’s busy but he knows you’re here and wants to see you. Alright? So just eat when food gets here and regain some of your strength so you can actually be coherent and not waste his time.”

Jon bowed his head. He knew the man was right. If he had gotten here yesterday, that meant Jon hadn’t eaten in two days on top of bleeding a lot and being exhausted from overusing his magic. Even now, his body yearned to sleep again.

He supposed he should feel lucky he woke up again.

A maid entered the room and dropped off a tray of food. The man dismissed her, assuring her he would remain here until Ryan showed up and took over. The tray was loaded with different types of berries, eggs, and toast. Jon wasted no time in eating all of it.

“Wow,” said the man, watching Jon eat with fervor. “You were even hungrier than I thought.”

Jon glared at him, still chewing the several sweet blueberries he had shoved into his mouth all at once. He swallowed.

“I haven’t eaten in two days,” he growled. The man’s eyes widened. “And it’s been a _long_ two days.”

“Oh—sorry. I was just trying to joke.”

Jon scowled.

The man shifted in his chair, apparently examining the fabric of the bed’s covers. “You really had me worried there, when you ran into me yesterday. All pale, your back stained with blood. Your horse looked as ready to die as you did, and I have no idea how it’s still alive—though some magic folk had to look at it.”

Shame bloomed across Jon's cheeks. He did not want to cause the death of an animal—especially one as expensive and useful as a horse.

“You ran into my traveling party in the middle of the street,” the man said. “You looked like a madman, trying to run a horse down the main street like that. You only stopped because your horse couldn’t figure out how to get past ours. But you shouted something about… Synnefa being gone. And that you needed to see the castle. Then you collapsed and fell off your horse—you’re lucky I was there to catch you, or else you really might not have woken up.”

Jon’s shoulder throbbed, but his head did not hurt as much anymore. “I see… um. Thank you… I'm afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Jeremy.”

Jon fell silent. He felt restless. The process of eating had abated the urge to get up and walk around, to search for Ryan and for answers, but now he had finished the food and was feeling better by the minute. It would take a few more days of rest for him to be able to use magic without groaning, like any strained muscle, but he could push through it just fine.

“What happened?” Jeremy asked softly. Jon jumped and bit down a hiss as his shoulder jolted with white hot pain. “To your town. It seemed bad, the way you were babbling.”

Guilt pulled at Jon’s stomach and he stared. He had left them—maybe even to die. Hundreds of people, walking out of the town like marionettes controlled by a master puppeteer. He should have followed, he should have paid closer attention, he should have…

Jeremy snapped his fingers in front of Jon’s nose, startling him. “Jon?”

Jon shook his head as if to clear it. “I—I’m not sure. They just… walked away. All at once. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. Jon rubbed his forehead and grimaced, his headache creeping back.

“They just… left.”

“Where did they go?”

Both of them turned to the door. Ryan had arrived. He looked not too different from when Jon last saw him, except he had maybe lost a little weight and grown a short sandy brown beard. His light hair still swept back from his forehead, and he still carried his staff of several different woods twined together and branching at the top. And—Jon resisted the urge to scoff—he still wore a long orange skirt, though it was open on one side to reveal black boots and tan pants. That particular mage fashion choice—robes and long skirts—had died off a hundred years ago, but Ryan clung to it still, even if he modernized it a smidge. Jon supposed it was a memory of a time Ryan missed. Otherwise he wore a belt with several pouches, a black vest, and an undyed shirt with billowing sleeves that, when hanging at his side, reached well past his fingertips.

“I don’t know,” Jon said. “South.”

“You didn’t follow?” Ryan asked. Jon shrank as he approached the bed in a few strides. His voice rose steadily. “You didn’t do anything? You ran from your town and nearly killed your own horse when you are their _only Mage_? The only one who could help them?”

“Stop it,” Jon whimpered.

Jeremy glared. “Ryan, cool it. Jon, just tell us how you came to be at the castle right now.”

“I was weak,” Jon said, pulling the covers toward him and drawing them up to his chest. “One of the townsfolk had fallen gravely ill with a fever, and I had spent the past few days at his side until his fever broke. I had just gotten home to rest from that when he—came back and shot me with a crossbow.” Jeremy gasped, but Jon swallowed and shook his head, cutting off any exclamation. “He asked me for help. He didn’t seem to be in control of himself—he shouldn’t even have been up! And then he left. Just… left. I went outside and everyone was just… leaving. I didn’t know what to do. I might have tried to help if I hadn’t been bleeding, exhausted, and totally drained. I could just barely patch myself up enough and aid the horse to get me here.”

“I see…” Ryan hummed. “And, pray tell, why didn’t you just send a messenger bird to us?”

“I…” Jon grimaced. This was going to sound bad. “Um, the—the birds all flew away when I approached the aviary.”

“Uh huh,” said Ryan, and Jon realized with a jolt that Ryan was suspicious—of him. “So, Jon, tell me. If it was a spell cast over the town, why weren’t you affected? By any logic, you’d have been the first to walk out.”

Jon shook his head again and hid his face in his hands. He didn’t know. The price of being magic meant that magic would affect him sooner and more intensely. Surely this would have been a spell with an area of effect—even if he accepted that there was a spell that controlled someone’s body against their will—not even brainwashing, but literally controlling the body—not even Ryan could target hundreds of individuals specifically. He just… didn’t know.

“There’s already a scout on his way to Synnefa,” Ryan added. “We’ll see within the week if this is some fever dream of yours or not. Until then, rest up. You’re in my personal infirmary room, so I’ll be nearby. I’ll be back soon to heal your shoulder, I just need to brew something up.”

“Th-thank you,” Jon mumbled as Ryan turned away and headed for the door. He didn’t feel very thankful, but he felt obligated to say it anyway. He didn’t want Ryan to think him rude as well as a liar.

As soon as the door closed, Jeremy let out a huff of breath as though he’d been holding it and slouched in his chair. “Phew. That was stupidly tense.”

Jon scowled at the closed door. “I nearly killed myself to get here. You’d have thought he’d be a bit nicer.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t think he likes it when that happens.”

“What?”

“When people nearly kill themselves to do something.”

Jon opened his mouth, but decided against saying anything. He wasn’t sure if Jeremy knew that part of Ryan’s past. But there wasn’t a Court Mage (including Jon) that didn’t know that Ryan had tried to do that same thing a hundred years ago, and nearly perished for it. Though instead of dying for his efforts to block off the End, the enemy Court Mage merely transformed him into a tree—to be transformed back by the infamous healer Mage Caleb in modern day.

It wasn’t Jon’s place to tell the story, however. Ryan was rumored to be pretty quiet about it, though he shared when asked directly. Overall, it seemed pretty damn hypocritical of Ryan.

Jon massaged his shoulder, grimacing. He wished Ryan would come back soon and heal this wound. _He had to brew something up_ , he’d said. He wondered if he caught the Mage at an awkward time concerning his stores. A Court Mage like Ryan—surely he’d already have plenty of medical brews and salves stocked up. Had he run out recently, maybe?

_What was he going to do now?_ His town had left. Everyone just walked out. And he had left them. He was weak and had run away.

“For the record,” Jeremy said suddenly. “I believe you.”

Jon jerked his head up. “You do?”

Jeremy nodded. “Ryan didn’t see the way you ran in; he only saw you passed out as I carried you into the castle.”

Jon blushed. _Carried_? He really was losing all dignity he had left. Unable to return to Galdente, carried like a fainting damsel, unable to take care of himself…

“Why were _you_ coming to the castle?” Jon asked, trying to deflect the conversation away from himself now.

“Oh, uh.” Jeremy smoothed the front of his tunic. “Official lord business.”

Jon snorted before he could stop himself. Then he paled. Offending lords was what brought him to Synnefa in the first place. “I’m so sorry—it’s just—you don’t act much like a—a lord.”

Jeremy laughed. “No, I guess not. Haven’t been one for long. Used to just be a local merchant from a wealthy family. I was made one following the recovery of the End. Just a successful merchant from a hundred years ago, but you know, when you need people to fill in the vacancies, you pick from what you got.”

“Oh.” Jon covered his mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Jeremy said, waving his hand. “There’s more bureaucracy than I care for, but I get help with that. Plus, it means I get to travel a lot more, see more of the other kingdoms. Being all official-like, it’s kind of nice.”

Jon’s tongue burned with questions about the Ender Kingdom. The Ender Kingdom was still recovering from its rule under a dragon, with help from Venator. A hundred or so years had passed for the rest of the world, but for them, under the dragon’s spell, hardly any time seemed to have passed.

_Tower_. Jeremy was probably almost as old as Ryan.

“So, uh,” Jeremy said. Jon blinked, realizing he had zoned out again. “Ryan told me you were originally a Court Mage in Galdente. What are you doing in a town in the middle of Venator?”

“Hah, um, well…” Jon trailed off. Jeremy grinned at him, one eyebrow quirking up. It seemed only fair to share a pinch of his past too. Besides, he could find out by asking almost anyone… “My specialty is reading the clouds and weather. Hints of the future, but other stuff gets carried there, too. The future telling is… not always accurate, and I say that, but let’s just say an important noble got pissed off at me, and I decided to just book it before he could invent a crime to get me on the gallows.”

“Future telling, huh…” Jeremy mused. He paused, as though considering it. “That’s awfully bold of you to just run. Even in the End, courts don’t like guilty Mages getting away.”

“Yeah, well,” Jon snapped, “I didn’t feel like having a rope around my neck, or worse. Especially when I didn’t even do anything wrong. I don’t know how the End treated their Mages, but in Galdente and Venator, the courts usually keep pretty close tabs on us. Court Mages have more protections, but mistakes can turn plenty of people against you. I’m just lucky Venator recognizes that I didn’t actually commit a crime, and when they realized I was here, they let me be.” Jon hesitated, remembering when he met Prince Gavin and the king’s First Adviser on their journey. “I suppose I have the prince to thank for that…”

Jeremy shrugged. “Yeah, since we have—um, _had_ —so many magic users in our country, we’re a lot more lax. There’re a few rules about using magic, but the people are—were—treated the same under the law. What kind of tabs did they keep?”

Jon waved his good hand. “Court Mages are favored because they’re really easy to keep an eye on, but if you lived in other cities or out in the country, every few months you would get a random visit, to make sure you’re not like, plotting to take over the world with your magic powers. And anyone could send contact the castle if they suspected anything, and someone would come down.”

“Heh, gotta make sure you’re not trying to mind-control a whole town,” Jeremy joked. Jon stared at him. “Too soon?”

“Maybe just a little,” Jon said, but he smirked, and Jeremy grinned sheepishly back, looking appropriately apologetic.

The door creaked open, and Ryan reentered carrying a slate tray, on top of which sat a marble mortar and pestle, a pile of fresh bandages, and a clay mug of steaming tea. Jeremy moved away from the bed as Ryan sat on its edge, balancing the tray across his lap. He handed the mug to Jon and instructed him to turn around. The tea was too hot to drink, so Jon just held it for now as Ryan carefully unwrapped his bandages.

“This may sting,” Ryan said. “Now that you’re awake enough, I can Heal this arrow wound better.”

Jon reflectively flinched when Ryan applied the cold poultice to his shoulder. The soft coolness quickly burned, eating away dead skin and any infection that might have started taking root. Ryan set the mortar and pestle back on the tray, then let one hand hover over the wound. The warm magic cut through the burning, knitting the flesh and muscle together more smoothly and easing away the ache. Jon sighed as the tight pain slowly loosened, and resisted the urge to roll his shoulder. A few moments later, and Ryan applied the fresh bandages, and stood up.

“The tea has a draught in it to help you sleep some more,” said Ryan. “Drink all of it, and by the time you wake up, you should be fully Healed.”

Jon frowned. “You were going to tell me it was drugged _when_?”

“I told you now,” Ryan said with a scowl. “You still need to rest after all the torture you put your body through. Even a Mage like you should know that.”

Jon bristled at that, and he nearly threw the hot tea at that stupid Court Mage. He held on to it, but his knuckles turned white. “Excuse me? I’ve been taking care of a whole fucking town for the past several years, and before that, I was a fully trained Court Mage! I might not be that strong, but I’m not stupid!”

Ryan paused, looking him up and down for a few seconds. Then, he said, “Just drink it. You’re not going to be doing much else until the scout gets back Synnefa anyway.”

Ryan turned and strode out of the room, leaving no space for argument. Jon sighed and hung his head for a moment, feeling the warmth of the mug deep in his hands. The poultice burned faintly on his back.

“Well,” said Jeremy. He cleared his throat. “Guess that’s close enough to an apology.”

Jon snorted. “I remember him being… significantly less of an ass.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I won’t make excuses for him, but I think he’s kind of stressed right now, and maybe super tired. I am sorry, though.”

Jon shook his head and set his mug on the table next to the bed for now. He would drink it soon—Ryan _was_ right—but he needed something else.

“It's not your fault. I could use a favor, though.”

Jeremy leaned forward. “What is it?”

Jon glanced around the room. “Do you have a piece of paper or something? I need to write something down for Ryan.”

“Hmm… Not on me, but I can be back in ten minutes or less.”

“Alright, I’ll wait.”

Jeremy sprinted out of the room, and true to his promise, returned with a piece of parchment and a thin stick of charcoal in less than ten minutes. He handed them to Jon, panting. Jon scribbled a list of ingredients and brief instructions, then handed them back to Jeremy.

“Please give that to Ryan. I need a… daily salve, and all my stocks are in Synnefa. I’ve missed a couple days, so I really should have it by the time I wake up again. Could you tell him that please?”

Jeremy flicked him a two-fingered salute. “Sure can, friend. I’ll make sure he gets it. Have a good rest!”

Jeremy left with the paper, and Jon settled back with a sigh. He grabbed the mug again and sipped the tea, his tongue tingling mildly from the soporific drug and trying not to think. If he thought, his mind would just circle, over and over again, around his town, and being forced to stay here doing nothing until the scout came back. Despite his best efforts, the anxieties still clawed up, swirling and churning as he tried to focus on the tea.

He finished the drink quickly, set the empty mug aside once more, and within a quarter of an hour was fast asleep.


	4. The Clouds Were Screaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Sometimes you just lose motivation to write for a few months.

A clap of thunder startled Jon awake and upright. He didn’t notice how his shoulder barely ached for his racing heart as he listened to the crackle of the lightning ward dispelling the electricity away from the tall castle.

Rain splattered against the window in a pleasing rhythm. Jon pressed a hand over his pounding heart and sighed, letting the sound soothe him. He liked storms, for the most part—liked the swirling clouds that were easy to read and told him much. But nothing was quite like getting woken up by an explosion of thunder.

His shoulder just ached a little, now, almost fully healed. He was still drowsy, the effects of the drug still lingering, but he pushed through and stood up anyway.

It hadn’t stormed in weeks. The rain that had come had been light, steady, and the clouds a droning, flat sheet of gray. But now it stormed, and the winds churned the world and brought hints of the past, the future, the present. It brought a clearer reading than was typical.

Jon dragged himself out of bed, his head feeling like a sack of flour. The fire had died to glowing embers, leaving the room a bit drafty, so he hugged the covers to himself and pulled them off the bed to take with him. He stumbled over to the window, fighting against the drug’s lingering effects. He wanted so desperately to sleep, but storms like this didn’t last long. He pressed his palm against the glass, leaned close to power at the sky.

The hairs on his arms and neck raised instantly, a prickling sensation tickling all over his skin. He shivered, hugging the covers closer around him with one hand while the other fumbled for the window latch. This was loud. This was bad.

The window flung open, slamming against the wall as the wind roared in. Jon flinched against its strength as it whipped about the room, killing the embers in the fireplace and bringing in spitting rain. Jon ignored it as best he could and leaned against the sill, face tilted up.

It clawed, the clouds, they clawed and cut. They were as loud as the wind in his ears and he could barely make heads or tails of it. He stared and tried to relax his mind and body, letting the information soak in. They cut, they cut, the clouds clawed at his stomach.

Something was different about this storm. Something was pulling on it, trying to change it. Jon frowned, blinking in the rain as his hair stuck to his face and his skin grew cold. He couldn't sense what it was; he could only see its effects. It was muddying his reading, garbling the noise... His head swam and hurt.

Lightning crashed into the tall castle, and the air crackled around him as the ward dispersed it. Jon stumbled back from the window, blinded temporarily by the sharp electricity cutting across his vision, and he lost his footing. He hit the floor and curled up with his covers, clutching his head. The clouds had been so loud… If he even could understand it all, it was overwhelming… Something was coming. Some change, some…

The door burst open, and Ryan stormed through, hesitating with a bright lamp before he spotted Jon on the floor and rushed over. He dropped to his knees, setting the lamp down and pulling at Jon.

“Hey, speak to me,” Ryan urged. Jon sat up woozily, his head spinning. He was soaked from the rain, and his nose felt like it was running. The light of the lamp revealed that it was dripping blood. Ryan waved his hand, and the window snapped shut again, cutting off the sound of the storm. Then he cupped Jon’s chin and tilted it towards him, looking intently at his eyes.

“Good mornin’,” Jon said, the lingering effects of the drug making his words slur a little. He let Ryan's hand do most of the work to hold his head upright. Ryan’s eyes were tired but clear and a lovely shade of blue.

“You shouldn’t even be awake yet,” Ryan said, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it to Jon’s nose. “But I heard my ward go off—did the storm wake you…?”

Jon nodded sleepily. “This one screams,” he mumbled. “Couldn’t let it go without hearing it.” Did that make sense? Ryan knew Jon’s specialty; he could figure it out.

Ryan did seem to understand. He nodded and sighed. “Alright. We’ll talk about that later. Up you go; get back on the bed.” Ryan helped Jon back up and guided him to sit on the mattress. Jon held onto the handkerchief as they went, aware enough at least to hold the cloth to his nose as they both sat down, next to each other.

“You couldn’t even ward yourself from getting wet before you opened the damn window?” Ryan gently chastised. He waved his hand again, and the water lifted from Jon’s skin and hair, leaving him cozily warm. Jon sagged against Ryan’s side. Warm and solid. His hand drifted back down to his lap, and Ryan had to force it up again to try and staunch his nosebleed. This was nice. He could fall asleep like this.

And so he did.

* * *

 

When he next awoke, he was tucked into the bed. Strong sunlight burned into the room, the window thrown open to let a fresh, cool breeze in. He was alone.

Jon sat up and stretched, yawning. His shoulder felt completely healed, just a dull ache in the muscle to remind him of the old injury that would fade in time. He tugged his fingers through his hair, trying feebly to brush it out. The table next to his bed had a plate of food, a mug of water, and his requested salve. He ignored that for now as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded barefoot over to the window.

The sky was bright blue and clear of clouds. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. He sighed and leaned on the sill. The window overlooked the expansive gardens around Geoff’s castle. A few guards ambled around the premises on a lazy path.

Jon’s gaze roamed over the rose bushes, the weeping willow, the patch of Queen Anne’s Lace, to land on a young man with brown hair, golden in the sun, and a fine green tunic, lying on the grass next to the white flowers. A man with copper hair wearing silver pieces of armor sat next to him, apparently lost in thought. Jon recognized the prince even without the silver crown nestled in his mussed-up hair, and the Captain of the Guard, Michael, was easy to identify as well.

The prince shifted and raised his head, looking straight up at Jon. They stared at each other for a moment, then Prince Gavin lifted a hand in a wave…

The door opened behind Jon, and he pulled away from the window to face it. Ryan entered, and now that it was daylight and Jon was paying attention, he could see how drained the Mage looked. His clothes were the same as when Jon last saw him, his eyes dull with deep shadows underneath. Ryan tried to keep a straight back, but weariness pulled at his posture anyway. He was awake and alert, his movements as delicate and deliberate as ever, but as Jeremy had suggested, he was stressed.

Ryan saw Jon standing at the window and paused, his expression neutral but inquisitive, like a concerned physician. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Much better,” Jon said, rolling his shoulder and stretching out his arm to show range of motion. “Shoulder’s all healed, my magic is all rested, and I feel very well overall. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ryan said with a nod. Then he sighed, some tension seeping out of his shoulders as he glanced at the bed. “You should eat up. The scout to Synnefa should be back in a day or two, and until then, I’m afraid I have to keep you here. You will not be allowed to leave this room.”

Jon bristled at that, but he took a deep breath. They were treating him like a potential traitor! “With all due respect, why? I haven’t done anyth—”

“You reported a whole town missing,” Ryan said firmly. “You came here instead of sending a bird, with weird excuses. We just need to verify.”

“Verify that I’m not going to turn against the kingdom that granted me sanctuary and left me alone in that town,” Jon said. Ryan's eyebrows quirked. “Oh don’t act coy. You knew I was there, but soldiers _never_ came down to check on me. Not once, in all my years there.”

Ryan shrugged. “It was the request of the prince to leave you alone, unless the villagers requested it. Either way, we can’t be too careful. It’ll just be a day or two. I can bring you a book or anything you like to occupy your time.”

Jon gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Fine. I understand. Bring me something to read. Anything is fine.”

Ryan gave him a curt nod and left the room again. Jon sagged against the windowsill and looked back at where the prince and his guard captain had been, but they both had vanished. He sighed and hung his head. He could feel the ward Ryan had on the room. It was intricate, and after several minutes of reading it, he saw that it would slow him down and alert Ryan if he tried to leave the room. Whoever broke the spell that wasn’t Ryan would find their magical energy sapped away. It was brutal, but necessary in order to trap a single Mage. Plus, it was way better than having his magic locked down and he himself restrained. This was much more polite.

He just hoped the scout returned sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

Ryan did not return, but he sent a servant back with a book, evidently one from his personal collection. It was just an anatomy book, filled with diagrams of skeletons and muscles and organs, and Jon leafed through it aimlessly as he sat next to the window. It wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know—Jon had studied anatomy in his time as a Court Mage. But it was something to do.

Just as Jon was starting to doze off, warmed by the sun and bored by the book, a knock at the door almost startled him out of his chair. He sat up straighter as it opened, revealing the prince himself.

Jon’s heart leapt to his throat as Prince Gavin stepped into the room. The prince— _here_ — to see him. He closed the anatomy book and scrambled to his feet, hurrying to bow.

“Oh stop, stop,” said the prince, waving his hand. Jon straightened again, eyeing the young man. Gavin was as composed as one would expect from a prince, but his smile was easy and genuine. And he was apparently alone; no one followed him inside before he closed the door. That was an odd move for a prince—especially to visit a potentially dangerous Mage. Jon wasn’t exactly restrained within the room.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” Jon asked carefully.

Prince Gavin cringed. “Oh dear. Don’t you think that title is getting a bit old? When it’s just you and me, please, just call me Gavin.”

Jon frowned; a prince that did not like being called Highness? He felt like he would have heard rumors or gossip about that long ago if the prince was like that. When a noble didn’t use their title, commoners _talked_.

“A-Alright…?” Jon watched Prince Gavin for a moment, as the prince seemed to take interest in the room. The room itself wasn’t very interesting—the walls were bare, and the covers on the beds were plain. Jon noticed now that Gavin still didn’t wear his silver prince’s crown. “Prince Gavin…? With all due respect, why are you here? Alone? Ryan has wards on this room, but you know I still have access to my magic within here. A snap of my fingers and…”

Gavin waved his hand impatiently again. “I don’t think you’re a danger. You being confined to this room was Ryan’s and Geoff’s idea. I was outvoted.”

“Ah…”

Prince Gavin closed the distance between them. Jon focused on keeping his back straight and not glancing rudely away. The prince was here, _alone_.

“I’ve been told you came here because your town disappeared,” Gavin said. Jon nodded. “But I wanted to hear the report from you.”

So he did. Jon obediently told him everything up until this point. Gavin nodded along thoughtfully, letting Jon tell the whole story before asking his own questions.

“This was magic?” Gavin prompted.

Jon hesitated. “I don’t… know. It didn’t _feel_ like magic. I was completely unaffected, but pretty much everyone else in town is of the non-magical sort. I know it is possible to… influence a mind with magic. But to control a few hundred people at once, like a puppet? Taking their will away completely? I don’t know…”

Gavin hummed, tapping his finger against his chin. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Jon, but you’ve always been especially good at reading spells, right? I had heard that before, and Ryan also told me this.”

“Yes, Your Highness—oh, sorry. Gav—Prince Gavin. Yes. I was never really a… _strong_ Mage, so I got good at predicting spells as they formed, and deciphering what spells were cast.”

Prince Gavin tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “And you couldn’t read this one?”

Heat prickled up the back of Jon’s neck. “I… no, I could not. It’s harder to read spells cast from far away, since I only see their effects and not their source, but I can’t be sure this time.”

“Hmm…”

Before Gavin could say anything else, the door opened again, quickly and sharply.

“There you are!” snapped Captain Michael, shouldering his way through the door. The only armor he wore now was chainmail under a yellow and brown short-sleeved tunic, and he clinked gently as he moved. He marched over to Prince Gavin, who squealed and danced away from Michael’s snatching hand. “Gavin, you can’t keep sneaking off like that!”

“ _Mi_ chael,” Gavin crooned, putting the emphasis on the first syllable. “But you wouldn’t have let me see Jon otherwise!”

Michael glared at Jon. Jon put his hands up in front of his chest defensively and shook his head, trying to say _hey this wasn’t my idea_.

“That’s because he is an _imprisoned Mage we can’t trust yet_ , you dumbass,” Michael said. To Jon, he added, “No offense.”

“No, no, I get it,” Jon agreed.

Michael lunged for Gavin and finally grabbed the prince’s arm, pulling him quickly into a bear hug. Gavin struggled against him for a moment, but Michael was much stronger than Gavin (Jon couldn't help but appreciate the tense muscles on the captain’s arm as he held the prince). Eventually, Gavin sighed and leaned heavily against Michael, defeated.

“Come on,” Michael said. He lifted Gavin off his feet and spun him around to face the door before plopping him on his feet again. “You know Jack wants to see you before Ray gets back. Go bother him instead of a fucking imprisoned Mage.”

“Alright, _alright_ , Michael,” Gavin whined. The prince dutifully headed for the door, Michael following, but he looked over his shoulder to grin at Jon. “See you again soon!”

Jon lifted a hand in a wave, watching in stunned silence as Michael went to ruffle Gavin’s hair and Gavin ducked out of the way, just before the door shut.

Jon ran a hand through his hair and turned to look out the window, squinting at the bright, clear sky. The prince had been a welcome distraction, and it was actually somewhat charming to see Gavin’s and Michael’s relationship up close, but now he was back to fretting about his town, and whether he would be found a liar. And there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky to help him.

Gavin’s questions, and looking out at the sky now, did remind Jon that Ryan had never asked about what he saw in the clouds last night. Jon pressed his palms against the windowsill. What _had_ he seen? Vague danger signs? That was hardly useful. Still, something tugged at Jon’s mind. He almost wished Ryan was here, to pry and ask until his brain offered an answer.

Jon tossed a pillow from the bed to the floor and sat on it, folding his legs under him and straightening his back. Sometimes he didn’t understand a reading until he meditated on it, let his mind wander and sift through the information.

He focused on his breathing, in and out… but he couldn’t help but frown. That same… _feeling_ was there. Like something holding him back, interfering with his reading. He rubbed his eyes and groaned. He couldn’t tell what it was! Was it Ryan’s ward? Did he sneak something in there that would limit his abilities?

It must be the ward. Jon sighed and stood. He couldn’t think of what else it could be. It would make sense. Ryan wouldn’t want him to understand _everything_ restraining him. It would be too easy to break the ward, then.

He wondered…

Jon held out his hand, palm up, and let his magic surge through him. Static sparked across his skin, concentrating at his fingertips and strengthening into lances of electricity. His hair lifted away from his face as a brisk but light wind stirred around him. He held it for a few moments, the spell as easy as breathing now. He remembered when he first learned the spell; it was tougher to get the sparks to stay with him, and controlling the wind had been like playing tug-of-war with a tiger. But now he felt connection to the storms, to the weather and the sky. Now he didn’t wrestle it, but embraced it, let it come from within.

After a minute or so of this, he released the spell, letting the breeze die down and the sparks vanish. And he waited.

Soon enough, he heard the pounding footsteps outside his room, and the door burst open to reveal a panting Ryan.

“What are you doing!?” Ryan snapped. Jon quickly resisted the urge to smirk. His plan had worked, but Ryan looked frazzled and _pissed_. His hair was a wild mess, his eyes flashed, and his cheeks were flushed red.

“I needed to get your attention,” Jon said smoothly. “I—”

“I will take your magic away, I swear to the Tower,” Ryan growled, cutting Jon off. Jon felt a chill shiver down his spine. “You don’t _need_ me. You are little better than a prisoner right now. If I need to be here, I will. Otherwise, you will wait for the scout to return, and you will let me work in peace!”

“But you never asked me what I saw in the clouds!” Jon said quickly, defiantly, justifying his actions.

“ _If I need to be here_ , I will,” Ryan stressed again. He raked his fingers through his hair, mussing it up even more. “Your little cloud reading can wait until the king decides to meet with you about this. Now don’t pull a trick like that again, or I _will_ fully imprison you as a Mage.”

Jon wanted to argue further, but his mouth hung open and words refused to come out. The king… Of _course_ he would meet the king for all this. Ryan turned on his heel when Jon didn’t immediately argue, and Jon was left reeling with his thoughts and anxieties. Ever since his self-imposed exile, the mere thought of dealing with kings and royalty was enough to keep him up at night.

Jon had met King Geoff a couple times before. Venator and Galdente have been on good terms with each other for generations, and back when Jon had been a Galdan Court Mage, his path had crossed a few times with the Venatian king. He did not get the chance to chat with the king for more than a quick conversation at dinner parties, nor did Jon typically join the political meetings. His impression of King Geoff was that of an easy-going, kind man, but with kings, one could never tell. It’s one thing to be sharing wine with a king, and another to be suspected of a crime under one.

Jon collapsed into the seat by the window and put his face in his hands. No matter how kind King Geoff was, he was still a king. If Jon fucked up, then it could spell the end of his freedom.

He shuddered, feeling his heart pound uncomfortably against his rib cage. He just had to not fuck up.

Easy.

 


	5. The Trial of the Mage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been four months, but I was at RTX and chatted a little about fanfics and I got motivated afresh. I'll try to keep this up! Or at least, not have four months between updates, haha.

Two more days passed while Jon was locked up in his room. The prince did not pay him another visit, though Jon saw him a couple more times from his window. Jon suspected Prince Gavin was, essentially, grounded from seeing Jon again, as punishment for sneaking off. Ryan also did not visit Jon again in that time, and if Jon needed anything, Ryan sent a servant in his stead.

Only Jeremy stopped by at all, and Jon was thankful for the interaction. The servants that entered his room did so only long enough to tidy up the place and do their duties, and they did not respond to his greetings beyond that which was polite.

“These noble types always seem so busy with something, don’t they,” Jeremy commented during one of his visits.

Jon twisted his mouth. Jeremy was usually a genial, easy-going man, but this felt unfair to Jon. Sure, nobles could get cranky and change your life, but they weren’t _all_ bad. “You’re a noble, too, and…” He meant to say _still only visit briefly_ , but Jeremy cut him off.

“And I still make time! Besides, I wasn’t raised a noble, like these people.”

Jon couldn’t argue that. But, he said, “Ryan and the prince don’t seem so bad to me.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Court Mages are another creature, sometimes. His head is so buried in whatever he’s researching right now that he doesn’t even make time for himself, let alone others.”

Jon exhaled loudly and grinned at Jeremy. “I was lucky to not be the sole Court Mage at Galdente, but I don’t miss how much work I had.”

“You definitely adapted well to small-town life in Synnefa,” Jeremy added. Then his expression changed as Jon’s grin faltered at the mention of Synnefa. “Ah, let’s change the subject. How did you learn you were a Mage, anyway? The End has—had—a lot of magic users, so we were rigorous in finding them, but I don’t know how other kingdoms do it.”

“Ah…” Jon took a moment to dredge up the memories, thankful to be moving away from thoughts of Synnefa. “Usually Mages are just… noticed, or if they’re rich enough they go to the capital to get tested. I was discovered rather late, as far as Mages go. My town didn’t get a lot of travel, typically, and my powers were never very strong or flashy. I always knew I could predict the future in the clouds, but I and everyone around me didn’t really understand it. Or believe it, sometimes.

“Then one day, we had a visitor from the capital; I don’t remember the reason why. But I felt like something terrible would happen to him if he slept at the inn. I told him, and he humored me but still took a room. Later that night, an assassin broke in, but thanks to my warning he wasn’t caught off guard and was able to kill the assassin. The next morning, he found me, thanked me, and said I should go to the castle and gave me a letter. The Mages there realized my potential, and thus began my studies.”

“Ahh,” Jeremy said. “Seems we were both raised to a role we never thought we’d occupy.”

Jon ran his fingers through his hair and grinned sheepishly. “Sometimes nobles just… change your life.”

Jeremy nodded solemnly, then jumped at a knock at the door. A servant had come to fetch him for another meeting. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you around, Jon.”

* * *

 

The morning of the third day since Jon last saw Ryan, Ryan came back with Michael and another guard.

“The scout returned,” said Ryan. His voice was serious and flat, and his expression was carefully blank—which meant Jon could only fear the worst. What the worst actually _was_ , Jon’s brain couldn’t decide. “Come with me.”

Jon met Michael’s eyes before moving, and the Captain just shrugged. So, heart racing, Jon followed his escort out of the room. Ryan fell into step behind him, his staff clicking against the stone floor with every other step as a staunch reminder that Ryan could and would retaliate if Jon tried anything.

Jon felt like he could barely breathe. He had been in the Achievement City castle only once before, and that was several years ago. He remembered the throne room to be grand and large, and the throne tall and ornate, but that was not the room they ended up in. Instead, Jon was escorted to a much smaller room many floors up, a trip he later barely remembered for how preoccupied his mind was, certain that his death was approaching rapidly, that his name would be smeared, that everything bad would happen.

Jon could feel the wards on this room the moment he stepped through the door, wards against eavesdroppers both magical and physical, as well as a ward to sense when magic was used within or when magic targeted the area. Most of the room was devoted to a large, oaken desk, strewn with papers and scrolls as well as golden and glass paperweights.

Behind this desk sat King Geoff, his golden crown heavy on his brown hair, his green high-necked doublet edged in black lace, partially hidden by a full beard. The back of his chair was covered by a gold-edged green cape that faded into an ocean blue. The king’s pale blue eyes, looking forever tired with heavy lids, watched Jon as he was led in, his face unreadable. Jon swallowed hard and avoided looking at him in favor of observing the room.

The wall behind the desk was dominated by an oil painting of a finely-dressed man, perhaps in his early 40s, standing in a garden next to a clump of Queen Anne’s Lace blooms, looking regally off into the distance with a chicken held in the crook of his arm. The right-side wall was a window, though currently the heavy green curtains were drawn and the inside was lit by candelabra standing in the corners. The left-side wall sported a tapestry depicting a fanciful scene of a hunting party cornering a unicorn in a forest clearing, and the unicorn was made of thread so purely white it seemed to glow. With the hunting party was a large white wolf, prancing and looking very excited to be there. A cabinet with many drawers stood underneath it, wide enough to stretch most of the way along the wall.

There was one other chair, in front of the desk, and that was the only other furniture. This was obviously a private office the king used. Sir Jack stood behind the king’s chair, one hand resting on top of its back, and Jon could clearly see the emerald wedding ring on his finger. Jeremy was here as well, much to Jon’s surprise, leaning against the wall next to the curtain with his arms crossed. Michael and the other guard guided Jon to the chair, and when he sat down, they stood on either side. Ryan took a position in front of the door—there was one way out, and it was through the most powerful Mage in all of Venator.

Jon’s heart was racing a million miles a minute, and he wiped his palms on his pants, though that didn’t seem to help. He couldn’t get his body to relax, and he stared pointedly at his own knees to avoid looking at anyone else.

He didn’t hear the king talking to him at first, until Captain Michael shoved a metal-clad elbow into his shoulder. Jon jumped and looked up.

“Mage Jon, are you paying attention now?” King Geoff droned. Jon thought he was going to vomit.

“Are you going to execute me?” Jon blurted, and then he clamped his hands over his mouth. Michael snorted next to him before catching himself and regaining composure. Jon glanced at Jeremy, face flushing warm, but Jeremy just frowned and continued to look less than happy to be there.

“That depends on a few things, Master Risinger,” King Geoff said. Jon swallowed hard—that was a different honorific. He was dead. He could see the gallows now, in his mind. His head spun, and he forced himself to take in a few gulps of air. “The scout returned to Achievement City early this morning. Do you know what she said?”

A bead of sweat trickled down Jon’s temple. He shook his head, trying desperately to retain composure. The king was so serious! Not at all like the man who joked and laughed and had a little too much wine all those years ago.

The king calmly shuffled the papers on his desk as though looking at his notes, but Jon doubted he really needed to. “She said everyone was in town, confused and wondering where their Cloud Reader had gone.”

Goosebumps rose on Jon’s skin. “Wh-what?”

King Geoff suddenly met his eyes, and Jon struggled to not tear his gaze away. “Every person was there. As best we could tell, not a single person was missing. And yet a few days ago, you had come to us, insisting they had all got up and left. It almost feels like this was a failed trap of some sort. What do you have to say?”

“I—but I… Your Majesty, I was telling the truth! I… I don’t know where they went! I…”

“I already got your testimonial, from Gavin and Ryan and Jeremy,” said King Geoff. He interlaced his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands. “You’re still sticking to your story?”

The rush of anger was so strong and hot to Jon’s head that he almost swooned. He jerked up, but a quick hand from Michael and the guard kept him in his seat, and he heard Ryan rap his staff against the ground as a warning.

“It's not a _story_!” Jon cried. “I saw it happen! I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know what was happening. One of them shot me in a trancelike state—you saw the wound! I can’t shoot myself in the shoulder with a crossbow!”

The king’s eyes flashed, but Sir Jack spoke for the first time.

“You’re a Mage,” said Sir Jack. “You can do a great many things.”

Jon’s mouth hung open. He didn’t have a counter for that. He glanced between Sir Jack and King Geoff, who both seemed to be waiting for him to say something. The anger had rushed out of him, leaving him just with his wearying, frayed nerves. He hung his head.

Jeremy thumped his fist against the wall. “Geoff, come on! I saw him when he rode in. I was the one who carried him! You can’t believe he would nearly kill himself and his horse for a lie!”

“I cannot deny I like to jump to conclusions,” said King Geoff, “but that is why I keep a council. There’s more. Jack?”

Sir Jack cleared his throat. “As we both know, Synnefa has a large messenger bird tower, given that it’s in a rather central area of Venator. Well, our scout tried to communicate back to us quickly using that tower, and found there were no birds. In addition, she chatted with a few people there, and not one knew what happened to the birds. Just as well, they also seemed to think it was one day sooner than it was.”

Jon’s stomach churned, and he pressed his spine against the back of his chair. “Then you believe me?”

“I don’t know,” said King Geoff. Jon shivered. “To me, there are two options. One, you’re telling the truth. Two, you tried to set a trap and erased the population’s memory of that day.”

“Geoff, that second one is _way_ …” Jeremy interrupted, but King Geoff raised a hand, and Jeremy cut himself off. Instead, the king gestured at Mage Ryan and gave a curt nod.

“Well,” said Ryan, “ah… to put it lightly, I don’t believe you have the capability to do that. At least, not to a whole town. Plus, to move against the crown makes no sense, since we’ve given you shelter from Galdente for years without bothering you. No, I believe the simplest answer is the most likely case—you are telling the truth.”

Jon let out a long breath. So he wasn’t going to the gallows… but he still felt tense and wired.

“If you think I’m telling the truth,” Jon said, his voice quivering, “then what’s with this whole show? I—I need to get back to my town!”

King Geoff shook his head slowly and straightened in his chair. “I’m afraid that the implications of this means you might not want to go back to Synnefa just yet. If you’re telling the truth, then something happened to that town, and you escaped it. And, the people in this room, as well as the prince, are the only ones who know your story. Whatever happened may happen again. If it was caused by someone, that someone may know that you were unaffected. In short, you’re a loose end, and it may be dangerous for you to return right now.”

Jon sucked a breath in through his teeth, eyes searching the king’s face. But the king was serious, and his face never twitched with humor, never brightened with a wink or a smirk. So Jon wasn’t going to be executed, but he was still in danger, and the king was telling him to stay in the castle for the time being. No—a king never just tells. It was an order.

Jon wasn’t leaving the castle, and this time it was for his own safety.

“Alright,” said Jon. “I think I’m going to vomit.”


End file.
